


Baby Steps

by seraphina_snape



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Future Fic, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/pseuds/seraphina_snape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sami and Mesut have been together for a long time. Long enough that they think maybe it's time to stop hiding. It turns out that coming out is a lot harder than it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Steps

**Author's Note:**

> Look, guys, I don't even know how I got here. One minute I'm innocently watching a football game, and the next I'm writing Samisut coming out fic. I just… *shrugs* had a craving. Enjoy! 
> 
> (PS: Two more hours until the world cup finale! OMG SO EXCITED!)

"It's not like nobody knows," his sister said. 

Mesut frowned at the screen, hoping his out-of-date camera would adequately capture his expression.

His sister rolled her eyes, shifting his newest nephew to her other hip. "Mesut, our family knows. His family knows. Your closest friends know. Do you really need to tell the whole world?" 

_Yes,_ Mesut immediately thought. _Yes, we do._. 

"Did you really need to get married?" he asked instead. It was a stupid comparison that didn't even really bring his point across, but he couldn't stop himself from snapping back at her. 

"How can you even compare my life to yours, brother? That's not how it works."

"Exactly," Mesut said. "I'm different. The most important people know that. But everyone else doesn't. I feel like there are several versions of me. Mesut, your brother. Mesut, who is with Sami. Mesut the football player. Mesut the businessman. Mesut who doesn't know what to do with all the other Mesuts when they have conflicting interests." 

"Speaking of yourself in the third person?" His sister shook her head. "That's not a good sign, you know."

"No, it doesn't matter. Forget about that. I know who I am," he said. "I came to terms with myself a long time ago. But I can't be myself all the time. Not like this."

"Nobody is always 100 percent true to themselves."

"Yeah, but not everyone is hiding the most important thing in their lives either." Mesut leaned forward, closer to the screen. "You love your husband, right? You married him because that's what you do when you love someone." 

"I married him because I love him and because I wanted to show him that it would be forever," his sister said. 

"And that's why I have to tell," Mesut said. "Sami is… it's not going to go away. It's been years. If some people still think it's a phase, they're going to be so disappointed to find out it's not." 

"Nobody is disappointed in you," his sister said. "We aren't disappointed in you because you're different. Sami isn't disappointed in you because you haven't come out. Nobody is disappointed." 

Mesut snorted. "I can think of a few people," he said. 

"They don't count," she said, gently rubbing his nephew's back as the little boy started hiccuping. "Mesut, I love you. You're my brother and you're part of my family, no matter who disapproves of what you do. If you want to tell the world that you love a man, that's your business and your decision. I won't love you more or less because of it." 

"Thank you," he said, waving at his nephew as he turned his head to look at the computer, still letting out the occasional hiccup. "I love you. Talk to you next week!" 

His sister said goodbye and Mesut closed the laptop, letting his eyes flicker to the clock. Sami would call in an hour. Maybe they'd talk about it again, maybe they wouldn't. Even though he and Sami could talk about anything, this particular topic wasn't easy to talk about. They were on the same page: they'd done enough hiding. Enough pretending to be platonic roommates and nothing more than best friends. Enough lying. 

But reality came crashing down on them every so often, reminding them of what they had to lose and what they might face. Waiting until after their retirement would be easier. So much easier. But Mesut wasn't sure he wanted it easy. Everything he had in life had been gained through struggle. Struggle with his identity, his faith, his family, his lifestyle. The only easy thing in his life was Sami, and he was also one of the hardest. He can't change the past or say what he might have done differently under different circumstances. Sometimes he thought that if he'd known about other players - and not just known in the way that you just sometimes knew about people without any kind of actual confirmation - it would have been easier to come to terms with who he was and what he wanted. Part of the reason why they - and Mesut in particular - wanted to do it now and not after they were retired was the fact that it would give younger players a role model. Two role models. A sign that there's another way. 

Mesut's laptop chimed and he blinked, running a hand over his face. Had he really stared at the ceiling for an hour? 

He reached over and pulled the laptop from the desk, setting it down on the bed beside him. He accepted the call and then smiled when he saw Sami's face appear on the screen. 

"Hey, babe." 

Sami gave him a tired smile and Mesut reached out before he remembered that they were separated by several hundred miles. He laughed awkwardly and pulled his hand back, delighted when Sami's tired smile morphed into a more relaxed, genuine one. He would have preferred to get there by running a soothing hand through Sami's hair, but as long as he could do it by making a fool out of himself, he was okay. 

"Rough day?" he asked, settling down on the bed. Sami did the same, lying down on his side. It was almost like they were lying in the same bed, facing each other. Sami rested his head on the pillow, one hand under his cheek, and nodded. 

"Practice was awful," he said. "Some of the guys were complaining that we were all playing like a bunch of pansies in the locker room and that we needed to straighten that out before the next game." 

Mesut sighed, wishing he could wrap his arms around his lover. "You know they don't mean it like that. Not really." 

"Yeah, I know, but--" Sami cut himself off and made a frustrated noise. "You know what it's like, having to listen to that."

Mesut nodded. Stupid, thoughtless jokes that weren't even meant to be harmful, but they cut to the bone. The worst about it was keeping quiet. He'd laughed at one or two stupid jokes himself, even. Never said anything like it, but never said anything against it either. Ten years ago, he hardly ever thought about it. Brushed it off with a shrug and continued to pretend it didn't have anything to do with him. These days he turned away, feeling ashamed and guilty like he was betraying something - betraying Sami - by keeping quiet. 

"Sweetheart? Can you just… just talk to me? Tell me about your day? Anything, as long as it's gonna cheer me up." 

"Sure," Mesut said. "I talked to my sister earlier. The little one is getting so big - we'll have to visit them soon. Can you believe he's turning one already?"

Mesut kept up a steady stream of news about his family, some movie he'd seen earlier, his own much more successful practice and the old lady he had to fight for the last batch of okay looking tomatoes at the supermarket. At some point, halfway through the supermarket story, Mesut realized Sami was asleep. He got up to switch off the lights and get under the blankets, and then settled down to watch Sami until he fell asleep.

# # # 

"I feel like I'm having a heart attack and we haven't even left the house yet," Mesut said. He nervously rubbed his thumb over his house key, only looking up when Sami brushed his knuckles against Mesut's cheek.

"We don't have to do this now," Sami said seriously. "We don't have to do this, _ever_. Our careers--"

"--might not survive," Mesut finished with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. We've talked about this." 

"Talking about it is one thing," Sami said, always the reasonable one. "Doing it is something else entirely."

Mesut closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against Sami's shoulder. "Why does it have to be so hard?"

Sami shrugged, which Mesut felt more than he saw. "That's how you know it's worth it, right? Because it's a struggle. Because there are setbacks and a lot of frustration and hard work." 

"And when does it end? When does the good stuff start? The fun and the easy bits?" 

Sami lifted an eyebrow, his eyes dropping down to Mesut's neck. "Oh, I don't know," he said, licking his lips, "I remember that we both had some fun last night." 

Mesut's hand flew to his neck and he blushed. It was probably his imagination, but the mark Sami had left on his skin felt hot against his fingers at the memory of the night before. "Shut up," he said, trying to cover his embarrassment. "You know what I mean." 

Sami sighed and pulled Mesut close. "I know." 

Mesut melted against Sami's side, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and gave the door an uncertain look. "We'll just keep trying, right? Another time." 

"Right," Sami agreed. 

For a moment, they just stood there, holding each other, with the world and - more immediately - London right outside the door.

"Marvel marathon?" Sami eventually asked. 

"Only if we watch them in the order they happen in the marvel universe and not the release order," Mesut bargained. 

Sami rolled his eyes, but he took off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. Mesut took it as an agreement and followed suit, grabbing a bag of chips from the cupboard on the way to the sofa. Sami neatly plucked the bag out of his hands and threw it on the other sofa. 

"You're supposed to stick to a diet, old man," he said. "Make sure you can still run." 

"You're older," Mesut reminded him. He reluctantly got up and reclaimed his chips, noisily ripping the bag open. He _was_ supposed to stick to a diet - not because he was old or fat, thank you very much - but because the new nutritionist had _ideas_ and none of them included an unhealthy snack for good behavior every now and then. Completely unacceptable. 

"If you're eating those, you can at least share," Sami said, knocking his hand away from the bag so he could grab some chips. 

"If you're eating my chips, you can't tell on me," Mesut said. "You're supposed to stick to a diet, too." 

Sami relaxed back into the seat, propped his feet up on the coffee table and put his arm around Mesut's wait, pulling him closer. "I wasn't going to tell anyone," he said. "Sami and Mesut against the world, right?"

"Right," Mesut said, but with less enthusiasm than usual. 

They watched Bruce Banner hulk out and run from the government for a few moments, then Sami slid a little lower in his seat and pressed his forehead into Mesut's hair, dropping a quick kiss on his ear. "We'll get there, Mesut." 

Mesut couldn't help but smile at the quiet confidence in Sami's voice. It never failed to calm him down, giving him strength when his own confidence was wavering and letting him know that he wasn't alone. He shoved the bag of chips onto the coffee table and turned around, straddling Sami's lap. 

Sami looked up at him with trusting eyes and Mesut reached out to brush a lock of Sami's dark hair out of his face. "Four days until you fly back," he said, slipping a hand under Sami's shirt. "I think maybe there's something better we can do than watch a movie."

# # # 

Long distance relationships sucked. Sami knew that intimately. He also knew that they didn't get easier the longer you stuck it out, they got worse. With every month you don't see your better half, you want to see them more. The wonders of modern technology made it easier than ever to stay in contact, and some things were worth the wait and the heartache and the long sleepless nights.

Mesut was worth that much and more. 

Still, Sami sometimes wished they still played for the same club. Always having someone in his corner, always having someone there to celebrate a victory or console him after a defeat, always having someone who got him like nobody else. 

The best thing about long distance relationships were the reunions. Thanks to their solid spots on the national team, Sami could count the days down to the minute when he would see Mesut again. There were too many people around for the kind of reunion Sami really wanted, so he settled for a long hug. At some point, hopefully soon, he might be able to walk up to Mesut and _not_ hold back the kiss he wanted to press to Mesut's lips. 

Sami stepped back and grabbed his bag from where he'd dropped it. He followed Mesut to the elevators and they exchanged an impatient look when an elderly couple joined them. 

Sami didn't think he was unreasonable, wanting to kiss his partner hello after not seeing him for over two months. He didn't want to stick his tongue down Mesut's throat until everyone in the hotel lobby catcalled them, but he wanted to kiss Mesut and hug him and tell him he missed him without tacking on a "buddy" or "pal" or anything else that made their relationship into less than what it was. 

Mesut shifted a little closer. Their fingers brushed in a short, hidden caress and Sami yearned to reach out and take Mesut's hand, other people be damned. For a moment, he played with the idea of doing it. What was going to happen if he took Mesut's hand? Who was going to see? A pair of seventy-year-olds who hadn't glanced their way twice? 

His heartbeat spiking, Sami bit his lip and grabbed Mesut's hand. 

Mesut let out a surprised squak, making the old lady turn around and glance at them, but she either didn't see their joined hands or she didn't care because she turned around without comment. 

Sami could feel Mesut's pulse, fluttering against his fingertips. His heart was racing, just like Sami's. But he didn't pull away. Instead they clung to each other for the entire elevator ride. Forty seconds never seemed longer. 

The older couple got off a few floors below them. Sami and Mesut breathed identical sighs of relief than quickly turned into somewhat hysterical laughter. 

"What's gotten into you today?" Mesut asked, lightly squeezing his hand. 

"I don't know." Sami shook his head. "I just… didn't see a reason why not."

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, we talked about it, didn't we? I mean, we don't have definite plan on how to come out, but we've decided we're done hiding," Sami said. 

Mesut nodded. 

"Last time we tried we didn't even make it past the front door before we freaked out. So I figured maybe we should take it slow. A little bit at a time." Sami shrugged. "It was just one of those things. Why shouldn't I hold you hand? What's the worst that old couple could have done? Called us rude names? Please, I get more abuse in the locker room than that." 

Mesut laughed. "So what? We're taking baby steps then?" 

"Why not? Or do you have a better plan?"

"My last plan ended with us in front of the TV, so that's a no," Mesut said. 

The elevator doors opened and Mesut's hold slackened before he stopped himself and dragged Sami out into the hallway. It was deserted in either direction. 

Their rooms were next door to each other. Mesut followed Sami into his room, barely waiting until the door was closed and Sami had dropped his bag before he threw himself into Sami's arms. 

Sami wrapped his arms around his lover, closing his eyes when Mesut muttered an "I missed you" into his collarbone.

"I miss you every day," Sami replied.

"You're not getting rid of me for the next two weeks," Mesut said, smiling. 

"I know." 

Mesut tasted like coffee and very faintly like cigarettes. Sami made a mental note to lecture him about that later and then blocked everything that wasn't Mesut from his mind. Years ago, in the early stages of their relationship, reunion kisses had been frantic and heated and the precursor to a heavy make-out session if not more. Maybe they were getting old, but these days it was enough to kiss slowly and deeply, his hands cupping Mesut's face and Mesut's fingers sliding under the hem of Sami's t-shirt. 

The door burst open and they sprung apart, but not quickly and definitely not convincingly enough. Sami cursed himself for not making sure the door was locked or even closed properly

"Oops, sorry for interrupting, guys," Jérôme said, eyes wide. "Almost everyone's here already and we're going to head downstairs to the tv room to get reacquainted. You are cordially invited, but I guess you're doing your own, uh, reacquainting." 

Sami and Mesut exchanged an uncertain look. Mesut looked like he was about to pass out, so Sami crossed his arms and asked, "Aren't you going to say anything?" 

"About what?" Jérôme waved his hand from Sami to Mesut and back. "About you guys? Come on, that's hardly news to me. I'm not blind, okay? I've shared living space with both of you. This has been going for what? Three years now?" 

Sami shrugged, not sure how to answer. 

"More like eight years, actually," Mesut said. 

Jérôme whistled. "Madrid, eh? Wow, that's… well, that's longer than I thought. Um… congratulations." 

"Thanks," Sami said. "Do you--I mean, who else--"

"Who else knows?" Jérôme shrugged. "I don't know for sure. We don't get together and talk about you behind your backs, you know." 

"Still, we'd appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself for now," Mesut said. "It's not really a secret, but we have a plan for how to do this."

Jérôme gaped at them for a moment. "Wait! You want to come out?"

Mesut nodded tensely and Sami inched a little closer, trying to figure out how to offer comfort without being too obvious about it with someone else in the room. Two seconds later he gave himself a mental slap across the back of the head. Not only was Jérôme a teammate and friend, he also already knew and didn't seem to be running for the hills. It wasn't like Sami and Mesut never touched in front of other. Quite the contrary. They were very tactile, using any opportunity to seek contact whenever they could, simply because they spent so much time apart. 

Sami told the part of him that was freaking out about Jérôme's presence to shut up and pulled Mesut into his arms. Mesut was about as flexible as a railroad track in his arms, tense and unyielding. "Calm down," Sami muttered into his ear. "Baby steps, remember? This is a small hiccup. We just fell on our ass, now what do we do?"

"Right," Mesut whispered, slowly relaxing. "We get back up." 

"Uh, so… do you want to come downstairs or stay up here?" Jérôme asked. "If you're coming down, do it soon because there is a limited number of good seats and an even smaller number of really comfortable seats." 

Mesut pulled back and raised his eyebrows. "TV room?" he asked. 

Sami nodded. "Sure." 

They headed downstairs with Jérôme, their fingers occasionally brushing together as they walked. Nobody commented on the fact that Mesut perched on the arm of Sami's chair most of the night or that they leaned against each other every chance they got. 

Baby steps. They just had to remember to take baby steps.

# # # 

The third national game of the year and they had it in the bag, leading by two with only seven minutes to go. A lot could happen in seven minutes - they'd proved that several times themselves - but looking into their opponents' faces told Mesut that they'd mostly given up, the call of a hot shower a lot louder than the whistles and boos from the audience.

The referee jogged past and Mesut drew back a little, keeping an eye on the half-hearted attempt to score at least a consolation goal before the end. The ball was on the other side of the field and -- yep, there it went, back with his own team. Mesut called up some of his reserves and sprinted, trying to find a space where he could slip through the defense. 

The game ended 3-0 in their favor and Mesut grinned, jogging to catch up with the bulk of the team. Sami's hand on the small of his back was warm and comforting in the cold March air, and they fell into a group hug with the others to celebrate the win. Jogi was on the edge of the field, exchanging back slaps and hugs with any player that wandered past. He gave Mesut a hug and quiet "well done" and then raised his voice to tell the team to shower and change. 

Mesut took his time in the showers, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and dirt while something in his stomach unclenched and relaxed. Weeks ago, at the end of the training phase, Mesut and Sami had approached Jogi to tell him about their relationship. He didn't seem surprised, but he hadn't said much about it either. Parroting anti-discrimination rules and vague general statements about a player's personal life being his own business didn't inspire much confidence in Jogi's quiet acceptance. Real acceptance wasn't something that you could offer with words. Real acceptance was his devout uncle welcoming him home the same way he always did. Real acceptance was being told to bring Sami to a 'family only' dinner. Acceptance and tolerance were two different things. Mesut didn't want to be merely tolerated; he wanted to be accepted, and not just for who he was, but for he and Sami were together. 

Mesut felt like he'd been subconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since they'd come out to Jogi. He and Sami were tense and nervous, constantly looking over their shoulders like they hadn't since the early days of their relationship. There had to be consequences - despite all his hopes and wishes, Mesut couldn't see a way where coming out wouldn't have any negative consequences at all. 

When Mesut started in the first game, but not Sami, they'd exchanged a look. It was a ridiculous thought, but it felt like a sort of punishment to him. Sami told him he was overreacting. Neither of them started in the second game, but Sami was subbed in for the second half. Mesut tried to tell himself it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. They didn't always play the whole 90 minutes, especially not when they still had more difficult opponents to play. Lots of young new players on the team were just making their first experiences on a national level and Jogi always knew when he could let the kids take over and when he needed someone with a little more experience in the mix. This was the first batch of qualification games for Euros, not the World Cup. Conservation of energy, not tipping one's hand where strategy and new plays were concerned - all factors that made it an absolutely reasonable decision not to put them in the starting line-up every single time. 

Two weeks of ridiculous worries and games half-spent in apprehensive silence on the bench, but Jogi hadn't treated them any different than usual. He hadn't told anyone else and he hadn't made it a big deal. 

"I feel ridiculous. Jogi reacted exactly the way we wanted him to, and I still spent the last two weeks feeling like I was sitting on hot coals," Mesut muttered, sitting down on the bench to pull on his socks. "You were right; I _was_ overreacting." 

Sami shrugged. He was already fully dressed, waiting for Mesut to finish up. "I could say I told you so, but you'd probably do unspeakable things to my hair while I sleep." 

Mesut grinned. "Yep," he agreed. Then he sighed and looked around the locker room. 

Most of the players were already gone, talking to the press outside or posing with pictures for the fans. A few stragglers were lacing up their shoes or stuffing their things back into their bags.

"What's wrong now?" Sami asked. 

"Nothing," Mesut said. "Just… I wanted to kiss you."

"When? After the game?" 

Mesut shook his head. "No, just now." 

Sami looked down at him, his head tilted to the side. "So why don't you?" 

"What? Now?" Mesut asked, feeling a spike of fear travel down his spine. " _Here_?"

Sami nodded. "Why not? Baby steps, remember? Family and friends first, then the coaches and the teams, and then the rest of the world. Wasn't that our new and improved plan?"

"Okay."

"Okay? Sweetheart, you look like you're going to hyperventilate." 

Mesut smiled at the endearment, and the way it just slipped out. That was what he wanted. To be himself without having to analyze every touch and gesture, to call Sami 'babe' in all seriousness and have not be a big deal.

"Yeah," he said, catching Sami's hand. "Okay."

Sami leaned down, slowly, and Mesut tilted his head up, meeting Sami's lips with his own. 

It was a short, chaste kiss, the sort they often exchanged casually during the day. Mesut didn't look around to check who - if anyone - had seen the kiss. He pulled on his jeans and shoved his feet into his sneakers. Sami got out his phone, his thumbs flying over the screen as Mesut pulled on a fresh shirt and grabbed his jacket. 

Mesut's phone chimed with a text message alert and he opened it automatically, grinning when he read Sami's three word message. Chaste kisses in the locker room were one thing, but love confessions? They'd get there, but not today, and probably not for a long time. _Baby steps_ , Mesut reminded himself.

"Me too," he said instead of texting back, leaning in for another quick kiss.

# # # 

They took it slowly.

After the first batch of qualifying matches were done and he and Mesut both went back to their own apartments in different countries, Sami deliberately set a picture of Mesut kissing his cheek as his phone background. He printed out some pictures of them together, but didn't hide them in his bedside table like a dirty secret. Instead, he bought picture frames and hung them up in the living room and the hallway where any visitors were sure to see them. He stopped pretending he had a deeply hidden fascination for nature documentaries and simply admitted that they were Mesut's, leftover from his last visit. There was the occasional awkward moment when one of his friends would try to push him towards a girl before he reminded them that he wasn't single. He had Mesut. 

It was freeing and terrifying at the same time. Everybody knew, but nobody asked about their relationship or even mentioned it to Sami. Sometimes a conversation stopped or continued in a language he didn't know very well when he came into the room. Some of his teammates eyed the pictures of him and Mesut on vacation together like they had something to say, but none of them ever spoke up. Sometimes he got invited, and sometimes he didn't. Some players treated him the same, some were wary and kept their distance. Sami tried not to take it personally, knowing that a few of them probably had their own battles to fight.

"I think it helps that you're not here," Sami said one night. He was lying on his back, the laptop on his stomach. It was almost uncomfortably warm, but he'd pulled a muscle in his back during training and lying on his side was more than just uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?"

"Coming out," Sami explained. "We're not hiding anymore. People know we're together. But without you here or me there, they don't really see us together. They can get used to the idea of us as a couple without having to see anything they don't want to see, you know?"

"In a way, I think I can understand that," Mesut said slowly. 

"But?" Sami prompted.

"But it also makes me want to take the next plane out, just so I can come pick you up after practice and stick my tongue down your throat in front of your entire team."

"Hmm," Sami hummed. "Would you let me pick you up and swing you around?" 

Mesut rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back into the pillow. "This isn't a Hollywood rom-com, but yes, probably." 

"Good to know." Sami smiled. "Did I tell you about practice the other--"

"Don't really want to talk about work," Mesut interrupted him, his voice sounding a little strained. 

Sami frowned, taking a closer look at Mesut. His lover had his eyes half-closed, one hand lying on his stomach, the other somewhere off-screen. "Hey, wait a second! Are you touching yourself?"

"Hmm," Mesut said. He shot Sami a mischievous look. "You should try it. It's fun!" 

Sami groaned, briefly closing his eyes. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen. I pulled a muscle, and between the pain and the meds…" 

Mesut rolled onto his side, his hand coming up to hover between him and the laptop. "Are you okay?" 

Sami smiled, feeling a little better already at the obvious concern in Mesut's voice. "Yeah, don't worry. It only hurts when I lean forward or move too much. I should be good to go back to light training after the weekend," he said. He gave Mesut a pointed look. "I didn't say you should stop touching yourself. Just because I can't join in doesn't mean I can't enjoy the view."

"Any other demands?" Mesut asked, but he was laughing. 

"Yeah," Sami said. "Take you shirt off and let me get a good look." 

Mesut laughed louder and sat up to pull his shirt over his head as Sami leaned back to enjoy the show.

# # # 

The story broke at the beginning of August.

They spent five days in a hotel in the south of France and didn't bother to get separate rooms or a suite with several bedrooms. They slept in and then wandered down to the beach right outside the hotel hand in hand, towels slung over their shoulders. They got some looks, but Sami didn't know if that was because people recognized them or because they weren't used to seeing two men hold hands on the beach. He ignored the looks and stroked his thumb over the back of Mesut's hand, smiling when Mesut squeezed his hand and looked up at him with a happy smile. 

They spent a few hours lazing in the sun, Sami dozing with his arm thrown over his face while Mesut lay with his head pillowed on Sami's stomach. Mesut teased him, saying he would end up with a Mesut-shaped tan line, but it didn't stop Sami from putting his free hand on Mesut's head to keep him there, his fingers buried in Mesut's hair. 

A small boy from a German family on vacation was the first to approach them. He nervously clutched a football in his hands, his mother looking on from a few feet away with an apologetic expression on her face. 

"You want us to sign this?" Mesut asked, sitting up to take the football from the little boy. 

"Y-yes please," he said. "You're my favorite player in the whole world!"

Mesut smiled widely, the same smile he used when one of their nieces or nephews did something utterly adorable. 

"I think there's a marker in the bag," Sami said, dragging their bag a little closer. 

"Why don't we play a round first?" Mesut said. 

The little boy's eyes widened and he gaped. "Really?" 

"Sure," Mesut said. "What do you say, Sami? You ready to lose against me and -- what's your name, kid?"

"Serhan," the boy replied, a little breathlessly.

"Me and Serhan," Mesut finished. 

Sami sat up and brushed the sand off his arms. "I don't know, Mes, doesn't seem fair that you get Serhan to help you. Two against one…" 

"You can play with my sister Dilay," Serhan said. "She is two years older but she was too scared to come and talk to you." 

Sami and Mesut exchanged an amused look and climbed to their feet. They played two against two until none of them could remember how many goals they'd scored and everyone dissolved into giggles. Mesut declared Serhan and Dilay the victors and Sami agreed, readily signing the football and both kids' shirts after a questioning look at their mother. 

They didn't go back to the beach on any of the other days they were in France, and when the press ran the story, it was accompanied by a few sound bites from the DFB, pictures of them lying together on the beach and a tweet from Serhan and Dilay's mother where she thanked them for making her kids' day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story! ♥


End file.
